


No Socks, Full Service

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Series: LowRes [11]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: Consensual Somnophilia, F/M, Nerds in Love, Oral Sex, Somnophilia, morning blowjobs, the growing robot apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 20:38:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12350262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: WorldsFool asked: Would Wrench be into Somnophilia? Not as in he gets dirty with LowRes but as in LowRes decides to wake him with a surprise. They have certain codes to give each other like, is Wrench sleeping in the blue boxers? He game! Paint out this dirty scene once more for me, dear!A/N: Scene painted! I've been mashing over longer fics and this was a nice little thing to get me back in the mood. Thanks! <3See tags for warnings.





	No Socks, Full Service

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WorldsFool](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorldsFool/gifts).



After the many months with Wrench and the several you’d spent sleeping with him in some form or another, especially now that the hackerspace in the Valley was a 'three times a week' venture, sometimes more, Wrench has brainstormed a code of sorts. 

He devised it after he’d come to bed shit faced and horny after staying up late with B3ta, Ant_Man, and Snickerdoodle (the curvy new chick that maybe had a massive crush on Sitara, of which you were maybe sworn to keep secret). That night you’d been on the brink of sleep, only slightly aware that’d he’d crawled into bed beside you before his fingers were spreading down the flare of your hip, taking the edge of your black underwear with the cuff of his spiked bracelet. Wrench had gotten your panties halfway down your thighs before you’d fully woken up, gasping awake with mask spikes in the back of your head and his hands groping your bare cunt with drunken precision. 

“... pretty presumptuous of you,” you’d moaned, half wiggling in pleasant surprise and mock annoyance. He got a heel kicked in his shin - all accidental - and, because he was a wobbly drunk at best, fell off the bed with a ‘whooshing’ screech. 

You’d laughed, rolled over and watched with sleepy eyes as he clawed at the mattress like he was Frodo climbing the perilous rock walls of Mt. Doom. Despite the at symbols circling his mask, he was half-sober and slurring together apologies by the time he'd gathered himself. 

“Wrench, chill… slow down,” you hadn’t planned on making deals with him that night, but sometimes drunk Wrench came up with simple solutions to potential problems and always made you laugh while doing so. Even trying to articulate yourself through a sleep-fuzz head while Wrench tried to pronounce common words with possible blood-alcohol poisoning, you’d decided it was fair game to wake you up with a surprise if, and only if, you went to bed sans underwear. 

Wrench had agreed readily, sliding the mask over his forehead; bangs moving out his eyes and smirked with half-lidded eyes. You watched him heel off his converses, tugging his black socks off and exclaim loud enough for the whole house to hear, “No panties for yooooo! - and no socks for meeee!”

“Wow,” you’d deadpanned, hearing a loud giggle filter through the walls, but decided that 'no panties and no socks' rule could work. 

He went to sleep naked far too often to make his rule be the no boxers thing, and you were pretty sure he only owned red boxers… silly, sexy things with the red stars that literally made your tongue wet just looking at them, so your idea of blue striped boxers or something of the equivalent was quickly shot down.

So, everything got hashed out that night and despite Wrench being too drunk to do more than grope and fumble, you’d had a nice sleepy orgasm and got to nuzzle up to a warm, touchy-feely Wrench which was never not amazing. 

After your conversation that night there hasn’t been a single moment where Wrench has gone to sleep with his socks on… although this particular morning is the only one where you’ve both been back in your room at the house in the Valley for nearly a week. 

Usually, Wrench wakes up before you, or he’s hungover, and you take pity on him and let him sleep it off, but last night you both ended up getting dragged around the city on a breadcrumb trail of illegal shenanigans that ended up in a clusterfuck of a car chase. Marcus and T-Bone had been hugging the dash and steering wheel respectively, speeding down Oakland before the four of you ended up in a ravine with a blown engine and Son’s of Ragnarok initiates staring at you from the storm tunnels. 

Needless to say, by the time you’d both escaped the fire, stole a bike outside one the Son’s-owned bars, thinking nothing of the potential death warrants that’d follow if you’d been caught, you and Wrench both sped to your room in Silicon Valley and collapsed dead on the mattress. The sheets on your naked skin say you'd have enough energy to throw off your sweaty, smoke-laced clothes but the memory of disrobing is lost for all eternity.

Snickerdoodle is an early riser, and through the thick walls, you can hear her grinding coffee beans in the kitchen. The gentle hum almost brings the smell of blue mountain grounds to your nose - almost makes you wanna get up, but you'll make a cup later... it's too early for coffee just yet, especially after the evening you've had.

Your phone reads a little after five, which means you’ve only been asleep for three hours, but while you’re tired, it’s impossible to switch off now that you’re awake. All the sirens, blasting in your ears and blinding you from the back seat of that sports car, were replaying in your head on a noisy loop. The phantom gunshots were particularly unnerving...

The darkness of your's and Wrench's room makes the perfect backdrop for recent memories.

Stale adrenaline becomes new adrenaline as your mind rewinds the evening, adding deleted scenes of mayhem and alternate endings of grizzly outcomes. It was just as wild and terrifying as that night you’d first hooked up with Wrench. The car chase, the cops firing off their pistols and you in shock as the evening unfurled. No one got hurt last night, except Ray... who claimed Wrench tripped him on their short foot chase outside Son’s territory… and honestly, that was possible given the way those two had been fighting lately. 

Feeling sweaty and raw - old panic resurfacing - you roll over, feeling Wrench’s arm draped on your waist slip and hang down against the small of your back. He snores quietly, shuffles closer - hooked nose on the back of your neck - and sinks deeper into sleep.

You open your eyes to the dark wall in front of you; covered in selfies and stickers and random poster-crap. It’s dark in here, despite the lava lamp globbing endlessness, but you can still, only slightly, make out the picture Wrench took of the two of you at the pier - that day you’d both snuck up on the crab house roof and snapped those bowtie cock rings at people. 

Despite the fire in your stomach, you smile and thumb the picture, focusing on the light pressure of Wrench’s knuckle against your spine. 

Under the sheets, you’re restless, squirming until your heels brush Wrench’s shins and skim down… toes curled, and the sudden idea of hot, sticky sex leaves you so hopeful that the bare skin you find on Wrench’s foot makes you sigh. 

Fuck. 

Thank fuck, you think, carefully twisting back around until Wrench’s nose wiggles at the tickle of your hair sliding against his face. He mouths the pillow cover in his sleep and moans. A little patch of drool-damp pillow makes your bite your tongue to keep from giggling like a fucking moron. He's too cute sometimes.

Too cute and it's times like this that he actually looks innocent.

Oh, shit… you smirk, focusing on the way his naked chest catches the soft orange glow from the lava lamp and not how close you’d both come to getting your heads blown off. Wrench is alive, and so are you, and thinking any more about what could have been would only ruin what was - and what was, was fine and dandy. He was also about to get woken up with a mouth hug.

Dude had no idea... 

It’s obvious he’s been eager to get ‘woken’ up with your first curled around his dick if the lack of socks since last week has been any indication, but you’ve got a better idea. What guy wouldn’t enjoy waking up with wet, warm lips around their cock? Blowjob for the win, you think, licking your the lower plush of your mouth at the peaceful expression of content, ignorant-looking Wrench.

Carefully, even though you’re sure you could twist his nipples and he’d remain as unconscious as a Snorlax, you lift the edge of the sheets and shimmy your way underneath. His skin is hotter the further down you get until the heat bakes off his stomach and against your lips, his hip burns softly. 

You sigh, inhaling the warm musk of smoke mixed with stale old spice off his skin before tasting the leftovers of salty sweat from last night. 

Wrench tastes like the crimes you’d committed last night; car theft and police chases and something sweet too, much like the tenderness he’d shown in between it all. The little things… like shoving you behind him when the guns came out or running his hands down your body when the car smashed into the concrete ravine, checking for anything broken or bruised.

Excited about indulging him, you kiss Wrench’s warm pelvis, rest a palm on his stomach and open your mouth up over the semi-stiff length of his cock. Under your fingers, his abdomen twitches at the hot leak of your breath on his dick. As your lips close and suckle around the tip of his cock - tongue working the mental until it’s slippery and sliding back and forth through his puffy skin - Wrench makes the thinnest wheeze of breath you've ever heard.

Above the sheets, you can hear Wrench swallow and grunt as you work him over; slow and moist. His right leg kicks out, and with a heavy exhale he shifts over on his back; deflating. The muscles under the hot skin of his stomach bounce as you draw him in deeper and tongue the stiffening root under his cock, bringing him to full hardness. With every gentle suck and flick of your tongue - flat and firm - Wrench starts to wake up.

“... fuck, what-“ he groans; sleep clogged and shaky, “Ohhh... oh, shit…” 

The sound of his voice makes you moan around him, easing another hand over his hip to keep him steady as he jolts with realization. Once his brain catches up to his cock, he sinks back into the bed with a lengthy, indulgent groan.

Imagining what his face must look like, makes moisture flood between your thighs. A pleasant little itch starts to grow until you squeeze them together sharply, moan around his cock and plant your elbows at his sides, fitting yourself between his open legs. As you bob your head up and down, feeling the silky slide and salty taste of him on your tongue and inner cheeks, you decide that Wrench doesn’t get enough blowjobs. He deserves all of them, every morning and every evening for being so amazing and loving and - ignoring the life or death situations he brings with him - a safe rock to cling to when you need it. 

“... shiiiiiit - yes, this is like… fuck me,” he mumbles, arching his hips up until you open your throat, feeling the bulb of his dick piercing down the back of your tongue. 

"So, amazzzzing...."

Wrench starts to pant and whispers your name like you're... well... like you're giving him legendary head. He threads his fingers in your tangled hair and spreads his thighs until your elbows are dragged off the bed; forearms resting hotly on his sides. His chest rises and falls; breathing ragged and muscles twitching happily. Every little whimper and moan you get above the covers fills your chest with a different warmth. You love this anarchist way too much sometimes and just hearing the effects of your mouth on his cock is enough to make you go full on heart eyes. 

“Are we- is this…” Wrench’s breath hitches and his fingers in your hair clench as you slide back and forth, slurping up sloppy trails of spit and start lashing your tongue over his leaking cockhead, “fucking fucking-fuck!”

“Gonna cum,” he gasps; fingers tight and stomach tense. 

You engulf his cock again, working the base with a fist and suck the first squirt of cum right out of him. The concentrated taste of semen stains your tastebuds, and with a moan meant just for him, you pull back until the tip of his cock pulses in your mouth and jerk him off on your tongue. 

“Uuuuuuuh...,” Wrench nearly gurgles as he finishes, belly rolling and clenching under your hand. The thick meat of his cock pulses out a few last jets of salty jizz. 

When he’s on the comedown, Wrench laughs; breathless and hazy and well-fucked. It’s infectious, and as his dick slips from your lips and you swallow the tang of cum, you giggle against his hip until he slides up on an elbow and drags you up his naked body. The air outside the sheets is freezing compared to the heat underneath, and with a grumble, you dive back down and take him with you. 

Both of you end up under the covers, warm and fumbling like teenagers; kissing and squeezing and whispering sweet nothings. The warm cocoon of bleary affections is just what you both needed after that evening. All those tense worries you'd had when you first woke up are dashed away with each happy smack of his lips on yours. 

“Conspiracy theory time,” Wrench says after kissing you so hard you can’t even taste his cum anymore - as if he’d licked it all out of you, “You’re a synth. Ya know? - one of those skinjobs Decker shoots in the face for a living, cause no way could someone like you be real.”

For the first time since last night, you speak, lips still pressed against his own, “... if anyone’s the robot it’s you. Fucking punk robot... although that doesn't explain all the cum.”

“Yeah, fair enough. Fembots don't get as slippery as you do," Wrench says it with a wink even though you can't see it to be sure, "Besides, no one would build one with a face like mine.” 

Wrench tugs your close by the heft of your ass and grins before you can tell him to shut the fuck up, giving it his best Schwarzenegger voice and says, “It’s all about dem musclezzzz! - or dem boooobies.”

“Uh’huh, so is it just the tits that do it for guys like you,” you ask, joking as you pet his bed hair down on the back of his scalp. The soft weight of the sheets drapes over your bodies and heads as Wrench pokes your cheek with his nose. 

“Tits and ass,” Wrench agrees, pinching your butt cheek and pecks your lips once, twice and then you’re back to melting and licking his tongue until he starts trailing hot, slick kisses down your neck and chest and further still past your stomach until he’s swallowing up the delicate folds of aroused flesh between your legs, making sure - double sure - you’re not actually a robot by making you come undone on his tongue over and over again.

Maybe if you’re extra careful next time, you can get him on the verge of cumming before he wakes up… or, perhaps you can get him off while he sleeps. 

That - that would be an interesting… 

"Fuck…" you moan.

... experiment.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading and thanks WorldsFool for the ask. I enjoyed this way too much. I've been so busy and haven't done much fun stuff for myself and this really allowed me to indulge. If you have the time, please let me know what you think. <3
> 
>  
> 
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